Stick Around, Kid
by breathingfiredragons
Summary: Where Jack brings home a sick beggar from the streets, and he isn't prepared to deal with the consequences it brings. (Hint, Crutchie is the beggar) Prequel to In Sickness and in Doubt, part of "The Newsies of New York" series Jackcrutchie jackxcrutchie


A/N:

Hello! I am in fact alive!

This is a prequel to "In Sickness and in Doubt". It's the story of how Jack and Crutchie originally met. I'd like to clarify now that Crutchie isn't called Crutchie at all in this story, because this is before he got his limp. So when I say 'kid', I'm referring to Crutchie. Hopefully this is just the beginning of a huge universe called "The Newsies of New York".

Thank you so much to my beta, Ashley! Love you lots!

"Christmas mobs cause massive fight in department store! Vicious fightin'!" shouted Jack, waving his paper high in the air. "You heard it here, folks!" an elderly woman bought from him, dropping an extra coin in his hand and murmuring something about the holidays.

People were always more generous during this time of year. Something about the guilt and temporary bout of religion made them give more. Not that he minded - it was nice to have a treat now and then. Besides just getting a treat, now that he was older he'd have to contribute to the Christmas dinner that Bruiser and the rest of the guys put together for the little kids. A few extra coins here and there piling up for a month, and sometimes they could even afford a goosegoose.

Of course, people's occasional kindness was balanced out by the horrible weather. It was cold and dreary, wet and miserable. Jack could barely feel his fingers, even in the oversized jacket that he'd dug out of some rich person's trash. It had stopped snowing for a bit, but the roads were still covered a few feet deep. He could barely walk without dragging his feet and taking comically large footsteps.

By sheer luck, he managed to sell all of his papers before dark. God was real after all. Less lucky was the fact that he'd nearly managed to wander into Brooklyn while selling. He technically was still in Manhattan, but only for a few more blocks. Any further and Bruiser would somehow find out and have Jack's head (Bruiser was real big on territories and who could sell where, for reasons that Jack didn't quite understand yet).

Unsure of how he'd even ended up as far as almost-Brooklyn, Jack grudgingly made his way towards the bunks. He needed to stop wandering and find a specific spot to sell. Or at least that's what Bruiser kept saying. Bruiser was really fond of giving Jack advice that Jack was less fond of following. Well, it wasn't that he _didn't_ want to follow it so much as he just forgot. Often.

It had started to snow again, and Jack swore. With his luck, there would be a blizzard and he'd be trapped outside again. Bruiser had told him not to go so far away, so he wouldn't look for very long. It would be entirely Jack's fault.

Not that he'd get lost. He was fully capable of ignoring a little snow.

"Penny for change?" a small voice croaked out from what had seemed to be a large pile of snow at the corner of an alleyway. "Can anyone spare a penny?"

As he turned around the corner, he found the source of the voice. A small boy, all skin and bones jutting out at odd angles, with blond hair and a dirt covered face. He was shaking, and a large purple bruise covered his left eye. "How old are you, kid?" Jack asked.

The kid looked relieved that Jack was actually talking to him. "Thirteen."

Oh. So not as young as Jack thought. Only a year younger than him, if he was telling the truth. The kid could pass as ten if they put him in bigger clothes, maybe he could take him back…

Before Jack could say another word, he felt his feet be ripped out from under him as he fell backwards into the snow. "Wha-" a sharp pain bloomed in his jaw, while something else dug into his chest. Before he could so much as raise his hands in defense, he'd been robbed of his hat and the coins in his pocket, and the kid was running down the street.

"Come back here!" launching to his feet, he darted after the boy.

The kid wasn't very fast, but he clearly knew the area well. He'd dart down an alley and appear twenty feet further.

He took a turn down the block, and then they were in Brooklyn. Jack stuttered to a stop for a moment, before shaking his head and continuing. He'd get his earnings back, boundaries be damned.

The kid dove into another alley, and this time he didn't emerge.

Swearing, Jack kicked the wall before heading back home.

"You got robbed?" Bruiser repeated. "Who did it?" Jack mumbled a response and Bruiser grabbed his chin, twisting it so he could better look at the already bruised skin. "Can't understand you, kid, speak up. Who hit ya?"

"Some beggar kid," spat Jack. "I woulda caught him, but he went into Brooklyn. Knew the land well enough to lose me."

Bruiser paced back and forth for a while, taking his hat off and twisting it between his hands. "Was he a newsie?"

"I don' think so. Looked like he was near dead, freezin' to death on the streets," said Jack.

"You lost to a near dead beggar on the streets?"

Jack flushed with embarrassment, and dug his shoe into the ground. "He was a damn good fighter. Had me pinned down and robbed before I could even blink."

Bruiser was silent for a while, leaning up against the wall. "Listen, kid, here's what you're going to do. You hearin' me? Gotta listen carefully. Don' tell anyone about this. I'll lend you money for tonight's rent, but 'side from that you gotta tell everyone you sold today. Got it?"

Jack nodded silently, holding back the burning question on his tongue: _why?_

"I ain't gonna find you a new hat. Ask 'round, see if anyone has extra. Maybe Kloppmann does. That's your problem," again, Bruiser paused. Jack wondered if maybe he was done, maybe he'd get off without a scolding, when Bruiser spoke again. "The Brooklyn kid who robbed you...if you see him again, let him be. Don' go lookin' for a fight. But if he tries to steal from you again…don't let him take anything. I don't wanna hear about you losin' to anymore street rats, you understand?"

Jack nodded silently. Tell people he sold. Get his own hat. Leave the Brooklyn kid alone. Don't lose any more fights. Easy enough.

Except.

"You don't want me fightin' the Brooklyn kid 'cus of Colon, right? But we don't know he's a newsie. So what does it matter?"

Sighing, Bruiser ran his hands through his hair. "Just in case. Colon ain't taken to kindly to other people who rough up his own. If the kid's one of Colon's, we don' want anything that happens to him on our hands. Get it?"

Mind whirring, Jack nodded. "I got it."

The next day when he went out to sell, Jack tried to backtrack to where he'd sold the day before. It was even colder now, and barely anyone was on the streets. The people on the streets weren't likely to stop and buy the paper. At least he had a purpose, something to keep his mind off of the fact that he couldn't feel his toes or his fingers, and that the new kid, Race, had lent him an extra hat that was a few sizes too small.

"Pape! Government scandal shakes the nation! Read it here, folks!" the actual story was about some secretary who'd had an affair with another woman, and was on the back page, but they didn't need to know that.

The day drug on. It only seemed to get colder. Barely anyone bought from him, and those that did tipped lousily. The possibly Brooklyn kid didn't show, and he didn't have any of his few regulars over here. All in all, it was an epic failure.

Deciding to call it quits early, Jack stuffed his last few papers into his shoes for extra warmth and shoved his hands into his pocket. He'd heard a story once about a girl who had to sell matches in the cold, and she died after lighting them all in an effort to preserve her warmth. Still, before she died she was transported to the most wonderful places, full of food and heat.

Jack felt a little bit like that. But instead of fantastical feasts, he got newspapers in his shoes.

Suddenly pausing, Jack rotated to face an alleyway. Maybe he'd heard something, or maybe it was something he saw in the corner of his eye. But all he knew was now he was walking into the shady alleyway with his hands squeezed into fists, praying he wasn't about to get jumped. "Hello?"

Something mumbled to his right, but all he could see was snow.

"Hello?" he tried again. "Is someone there?"

Underneath a decent amount of snow, completely still save for his fluttering eyelids, was the boy from yesterday.

If possible, he looked even worse. His lips were chapped and bloody, and his skin had taken on a translucent tone. He looked like Jack could easily snap him in half.

"Jesus Christ!" Jack quickly bent down so he was at level with him, and brushed off the snow that had accumulated. "Are you alive? Can you hear me?"

When the kid didn't respond, Jack pulled him out from the drift. He was disturbingly light.

Bruiser said to leave well enough alone, but if he left him out here in the cold like this, he'd probably die…

Scooping him up with ease, Jack stood up and made for the lodging house. He'd barely made it ten feet before the boy's eyes opened. "No!" he was probably trying to scream, but his voice was so hoarse it barely made any noise. He wrestled his way out of Jack's grasp and fell to the ground.

"Kid! What the hell! I's trying to help you!" Jack grabbed at the kid, only for him to take a swing at Jack.

"I ain't goin' back! You can't make me!" the kid crawled as quick as he could, but he wasn't getting far.

"I's not taking you back to...where ever you's running from!" Jack didn't try to grab the kid again, instead bending down to his level. "You's gotta trust me, or you'll freeze out here tonight. You ain't lookin' too well."

"You...Snyder didn't send you?" said the kid apprehensively.

Jack felt his blood run cold. "Snyder? As in the Refuge? Never. Look, kid, I don't wanna hurt you. You's sick, and all I's gonna do is take you back to the other newsies. Can you tell me your name?" the kid remained silent, staring at the ground. "Look, kid, I need something to call you."

"No, you don't. What's your name?" asked the kid.

"Jack. Jack Kelly," Jack offered a hand, which the kid took with wide eyes.

"Jack Kelly? You're _the_ Jack Kelly? Holy shit! I-I's heard all about you!" the kid seemed to be filled with a whole new energy. "You's the one who escaped from the Refuge on Teddy Roosevelt's carriage!"

Jack felt his face burn, and he self consciously rubbed the back of his neck. "You's...you's heard about that? Is they still talkin' about that at the Refuge?"

"Is they still talkin' about that? Of course they's still talkin' about that! You's a livin' legend!" suddenly the kid doubled over in a fit of coughing, and Jack noticed red spots on his shirt when he finished.

"How about you come back with me to the lodgin' house. We can talk more there," Jack tugged at the kid's arm, and he followed reluctantly. They walked a bit in silence until he finally said: "So how did you escape the refuge? Don't tell me the spider just let you go."

The kid seemed to be a lot more tired now. His burst of energy was over, and he was just trudging alongside Jack again. "Tied a sheet to the bed, tossed the end out the window, and took off like a shot. He ain't even noticed I was missin' until I reached Brooklyn," he paused, looking back up at Jack. "I know it ain't as epic as your story but...I's not there anymore."

"Place is awful. Damn it straight to hell," muttered Jack.

"One day Snyder's gonna get what's comin' to him. One day Snyder's gonna die, and he's gonna go to hell and pay his dues," the kid was nodding eagerly, like it was the most exciting thing in the world.

How the kid could so quickly bounce from grey and tired to eager and hopeful was beyond Jack. It almost hurt him to have to set him straight.

"You's so sure about that? Hate to be the one to break it to you…" Jack bit his lip, trailing off. "Ah, never mind."

"What?"

"Nothin'."

"What? You gotta tell me. Can't just start a conversation like that without finishing!" the kid pulled on Jack's jacket.

"It ain't a good thing, kid. I was just gonna say that bad people don' usually get what they deserve. Nah, they get fancy parties and all the food they'd ever eat," Jack put an arm around the kid, pulling him closer as he tried to ignore the waves of heat he could feel coming off the kid in spite of the cold. "Bad people usually end up with happily ever after. But at least we can make a penny off of them!" he tried to end with a smile, but the kid didn't share it. Rather, he looked like he was deep in thought.

They walked in silence again for a while, until Jack turned a corner and could see the lodging house in the distance. By this point, the kid had returned to a more reclusive mood, barely responding to Jack's attempts at starting conversation. Now and then he'd flash Jack a smile, and by God if it wasn't the brightest smile that Jack had ever seen. He looked like he had sunshine itself trapped in there. It was hard to tell that the sick boy who he was taking back with him was the same boy who'd beaten Jack up the other day and given him the shiner that had developed on his eye.

"We're almost there, kiddo, hang on," Jack murmured.

"I's fine! It's nothin'. I's walked twice this distance before, and didn't even break a sweat!" he bragged.

"Oh yeah, definitely," nodded Jack.

Race must've seen him coming, basically dragging the kid at this point, because he ran out to meet them halfway. "What's goin' on? Who's the kid?"

"I ain't a kid! I's thirteen!" protested the kid. Race looked back and forth from him and Jack, looking excited.

"Is he gonna die? He looks like he's gonna die," Race said all too eagerly.

"Jesus Christ, Race, he ain't gonna die. If y'wanna help so bad, go get Bruiser," Jack waved his free hand. Race scrambled back to the lodging house, yelling a 'sure thing' behind him.

"Didn't realize you had so much authority here," the kid commented.

"Not really," said Jack. "Just more than Race. I's been here longer than him."

"How long has y'been here?" asked the kid.

"Since I left the Refuge. So what, maybe...I dunno, four years? I came here when I was ten, and them older guys like Bruiser were all over me. Little kids sell better. I's been trained since then to be the best at what I do," Jack puffed out his chest proudly, smirking towards the younger boy.

"Yeah, right," he laughed, but it quickly turned into a cough. They stopped walking entirely as he hacked up what seemed to be his lungs into his sleeves, spotting red again.

"Jesus, kid, you's really sick," noted Jack. "You aren't contagious, are you?"

The kid shrugged. "It's nothing, really. I's-I's always sick like this. Ain't ever died before."

Not that Jack wanted this kid to die, but he kind of hoped he hadn't done all this work practically carrying him here for nothing.

Bruiser was waiting for them right outside the lodging house. He studied the kid carefully, trying to place him. He could be one of Colon's, and if he was they'd need to send him back as soon as he was well.

The kid flashed a smile towards Bruiser, the same award winning smile from earlier, but it's marred by the fact that blood stains his teeth. "This is the guy?" confirmed Bruiser, all business.

"Yes, sir," Jack nodded. Old habits die hard.

"Take him to Poet, she'll fix him up quick enough. Then come meet me in my office," Bruiser said.

Poet was one of the only girls who stuck around. Sure, there were always a few here and there that would stay with them for a few months, but none of them were eager to live with boys permanently. Except Poet. With mousy brown hair, copper eyes, and dull freckles, Jack didn't personally think she was much of a looker. But who knows, Bruiser certainly did.

"So you're the homeless bum who managed to beat up our Jack," Poet said as she looked over the kid.

"Poet!" Jack flushed. "You can't-"

"Oh, shush," she stuck a hand out to the kid's forehead. "Shit, you's hot as hell. How long you been sick?"

"Sometimes I think that I's never _not_ sick," he grumbled. Poet raised her eyebrows, so he continued on: "Maybe a week or so? I's been coughing for a lot longer than that, though."

"How long you've been coughing? Do you remember?" he shook his head. "Alright. I'm gonna go find my book," Poet had a book full of medical advice that she loved to flip through whenever she was 'treating' somebody. Always kept it hidden in her bunk so nobody else could look at it. Said that it made her feel important. "You stay here."

Which left Jack alone with the kid again.

The kid was covered in grime and soot. He'd clearly been living on the streets for a while, and been in a few fights. He had faded bruises all over his arms and his face. Which is probably why he knew how to fight so well, and how he took Jack out so quickly.

"Here," said Jack suddenly, grabbing a pail of water and a cloth from Poet's station. "Clean yourself off, you look like death."

"Thanks."

Jack stood there again for another moment, until he remembered Bruiser's orders to meet him after dropping the kid off with Poet. "You good here? Bruiser wants to see me…"

"Yeah, yeah, of course! Go ahead. Do whatever you need," said the kid.

"Of course. Thanks," Jack internally cursed a bit. Why did he thank the kid? The kid needed to thank him. He saved that kid's life!

Maybe.

"So I says leave well enough alone, and you brings him back to the lodgin' house," summed up Bruiser. "That sound about right?"

Jack nodded sheepishly.

"Glad we got that cleared up. Lemme know if you need another reminder of you's bein' stupid. Next is what we's gonna do with him. Has he told y'if he's from Brooklyn?" Bruiser asked.

"He 'scaped from the Refuge, that's all I got outta him. Dunno if it was Brooklyn before that, or…" he trailed off.

"It'd look pretty good for us if he _was_ Brooklyn. We send him back to Colon all healed up and he owes us one," Bruiser looked pretty proud of himself for thinking that one up. "Yeah. It'd be pretty great to have Colon owe us one for once."

"Sure would, but I don't think he's a newsie," said Jack.

Bruiser's face dropped. "Oh. That's shit. Still, I'll send word to Colon, see if he wants to claim him."

"Claim him? What, like he's some item being bartered away?" Jack said ferociously.

"It ain't like that, kid-"

"Like hell it ain't like that! You can't treat him like he's just-just an item!"

"It ain't like that, Jack!" Bruiser said, more forcefully this time. "Don't shout about things you don't understand. It ain't just 'bout some kid who beat you up. Brooklyn's one of the most powerful cities in the world. We need to be on Colon's good side. If he wants the kid, he can have the kid. We ain't gonna stand in his way."

"Colon's got no claim to the kid! The kid ain't a newsie, and he ain't from Brooklyn," spat Jack. "Colon don't even need to know he exists!" with that, Jack stormed out of the room, ignoring Bruiser's shouts and the fact that he may have just lost everything he'd taken so long to gain.

So stuck in his head, Jack didn't notice as he ran straight into the kid in question. "Sorry!" the kid shouted as he fell to the floor. "I's just-" he swallowed. "I's just trying to find you. And I found ya. Hello," he gave an awkward wave.

Jack studied him carefully. He was probably eavesdropping, knowing they were talking about him.

There was no reason for him to be treated any differently than any of their other recruits. Except for the fact that he was possibly from Brooklyn. If he was from the Bronx, or Woodstock, it wouldn't be an issue.

It's like the kid read his mind. "I ain't from Brooklyn, if that's what you're worried about. Just happened to-" he broke off, coughing viciously into his arm. He was still spotting blood. "Happened to be in the area. Like you."

Jack didn't respond to that. Instead, he just said: "You should get some rest. Don't want to go through all of this trouble to have you dying on me."

The kid nodded, and started making his way back to where Poet was.

"So what's the deal with the new guy?" Race asked, appearing from out of the blue as soon as Jack entered the room. "Is he gonna die?"

"Why don't you ask Poet?" replied Jack dryly.

"Can't find her anywhere. If you ask me, that's a sure sign that he ain't doin' so hot. Not if she ain't leavin' his bedside," reasoned Race.

"Why you so obsessed with death, kid?"

"I ain't obsessed. But it's interestin'. I overheard Bruiser talkin' to someone about sending a letter over to Colon," Jack's eyes narrowed, with Race clearly noticed, as he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "We's startin' a game of poker, wanna join?"

"That depends, you improved your poker face anymore?" Jack smiled.

"Hey! I tell ya, I gotta list of who owes me money a half mile long!" insisted Race, punching Jack in the arm.

"Yeah, and a list of who you owe three times that," said Jack. The pair made their way to the table, and he tried his best to put the new kid out of his mind. Most likely he'd go to Colon, and they'd part ways as unlikely friends.

"Colon doesn't want him," Bruiser said, lighting his cigarette. "Says he ain't one of his. Poet says he's gonna be better real soon. You need to talk to him, see if he's gonna stay with us."

"Why me?" asked Jack.

"You's the one who brought him in. You's gotta take responsibility for what's yours," Bruiser shrugged. "You think I got to where I am by lettin' other people do my work for me? Nah. Jack, you ain't an idiot. You gotta know that I want you in charge of Manhattan when I's gone," Jack hadn't dared to hope that that's why Bruiser liked him so much. Why he wanted to spend so much time with him. "And when it comes to shit like this? You's gotta take life by the balls and do things yourself. That kid out there beat the shit outta you, Jackie. Trust me when I say he's someone you want with you."

Jack nodded, his heart swelling. Bruiser thought that he would make a good leader. That he could handle Manhattan.

Here's the thing - when Jack showed up at the newsies' door demanding a job and rent to last him the night, Bruiser was the one who covered for him then. It was Bruiser who trusted him enough to give him some of his pay without barely speaking to him. It was Bruiser who taught Jack everything that he knew. It was Bruiser that Jack sold with until he was good enough to sell on his own. The first time that Jack got into a fist fight with the Delanceys, Bruiser was the one who patted him on the back and stitched him up, telling him where to aim next time.

Bruiser was the closest thing that Jack had to family, and his believing in Jack meant the world to him.

Jack ran through the lodging house at top speed, not stopping to answer questions, opting to instead just shout "I's in a good mood, that's all" behind him as he ran. By the time he reached the room where the kid was staying, he was out of breath with the biggest smile on his face.

"Hey, kid-" he stopped. The kid was asleep on a cot, buried under a few measly excuses for blankets.

"Don't bother him," Poet whispered from the doorway. "He hasn't been doing so hot. Just now starting to make his way to recovery," Poet always sounded different than others when she talked. Jack had always chalked it up to her being a girl - the newsies were mostly guys - but now that he thought about it, she sounded more like the richer folks they sold to. Her accent had always been different, but right now she sounded like she was talking slower, carefully choosing how her words would sound. "Why don't you come out here with me, Jackie?"

Poet and Bruiser had always had a bit of a thing. They'd flirt on and off, hang out together. They'd even kissed a few times, maybe done more than that. They were best friends. When Bruiser got stabbed by some asshole on the streets (who was never identified) Poet stayed by his side until he made a complete recovery. It was the only time Jack had seen her yell at the younger kids. She usually reserved that anger for the bums on the street who made lewd comments and groped her.

"What's with ya, Poet? You seem upset," said Jack.

"I ain't - I'm not upset. Just thinking, that's all," she corrected. "What's got you so excited to speak to the kid?"

"Bruiser sent me. Told me to ask if the kid's plannin' on staying with us or goin' back to the streets," Jack said.

"Well, I hope he's planning on staying longer. He'll be up and moving soon, but if he goes back out there he'll probably die," Poet said it so nonchalantly, Jack had to do a double take to process what she said.

"Die? He ain't just - just gotta cold or somethin'?" well, he was coughing up blood.

Poet almost looked excited. "I figure it's either Bronchitis or Pneumonia. They're very similar, you know. Hard to differentiate with my book. But either way, he's likely to die if he goes out in the cold again so soon. Add onto the fact that he's extremely underweight and starving...let's just say it would be best for him to stay here."

Jack smiled. The kid seemed pretty cool, when he wasn't beating Jack up. Had some sense of humor, and despite his going to the Refuge the kid had the brightest smile Jack'd ever seen. Bright enough to light up an entire room. Sure, he beat the crap out of him when they met, but could Jack really blame him for that? He'd do the same, in that position. "Good. I's glad to hear that."

"I can tell," Poet replied, twisting the ends of her hair.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Hm?"

"You's all distracted. Staring at nothin', twistin' your hair," Jack motioned with his hands. "Is it a girly thing I ain't gonna understand?"

Poet chuckled. "No, no, it's just-" she was interrupted by a groaning in the kid's room. "Shit, I should-"

"Nah, it's alright. I's gotta talk to him, anyways. Go find Bruiser and tell him what's eating you," Jack liked to pride himself on knowing his friends well. If Poet was upset about something, she wasn't going to talk to Jack about it. No, the only person she'd even consider discussing it with would be Bruiser.

And off she went.

The kid was sitting up on his cot. "Jack!"

"Kid! Good to see you're not dead!" that was always a pleasant start to a conversation.

"Yeah, I'd like to think so," the kid smirked.

"You feelin' better?"

"Yeah! Ain't coughed up any blood today, so...that's a bonus. Poet tells me that I's gonna make a full recovery."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard. She says it's best you stay here for a few days and then...it's up to you."

"Oh. Alright."

"You think...you think you's gonna stay here?"

"Is I allowed? I'd hate to be the one to intrude on your living situation, and I ain't got no money to pay for rent. I ain't got a job."

"Well you wanna live here, you gotta be a newsie."

"A newsie?"

"Yeah. Y'know, we sell the papes. Screamin' on every corner of the street-"

"Yeah, I know what a newsie is."

"Ah. So how about it? Trade you's life of crime for a hat and a stack of papes just itchin' to be sold?" Jack had sat down on the cot beside the kid. There was half a foot between them, close enough where he could feel the kid's still lingering body heat coming off him in waves.

"Yeah, I'll do it." Jack spit into his hand, and stuck it out. Without hesitation, the kid did the same.

"We's gotta call you somethin'. What's your name, kid?" the kid was silent, messing with the end of his shirt again. "Don't wanna tell me? That's fine. We could come up with a nickname for you. Like Race. His nickname's Racetrack, because he's always betting on the races. It's like he's gotta nickname for a nickname!" Jack laughed, and the kid let out a weak chuckle. "So how's 'bout it? Got any ideas?"

"Not really."

"Don't worry, I's got plenty," Jack scooted back a bit so he could get full view of the kid's appearance. His hair was sticking up in a thousand different ways, and his arms had indentations from the blankets. His collarbones were jutting out sharply, and his legs were wrapped around each other. "How's...Scruffy?"

"Scruffy?!"

"Yeah! You look's kind of scruffy. With you's hair, and...I dunno, it just fits."

"There's no way you're calling me Scruffy."

"Fine. What're your hobbies?" asked Jack.

"Excuse me?"

"Hobbies! What are they? Like...Poet likes to write, so we call her Poet. Bruiser likes to fight, so we call him Bruiser. You've got any hobbies?" Jack poked the kid's arm.

"Not really. Unless lying on the street and starvin' is a hobby," the kid joked.

"Nah. Maybe...Scrappy?" he shook his head. "Scabber?" nope. "Burner?" nope. "Jesus, kid, why you gotta be so damn picky?"

"We's talkin' about more than just a name," the kid wrapped an arm around Jack and stretched another in front of them like there was a magnificent view. "We's talkin' about my legacy. When they tell stories about me, I don't want them talkin' about no Scrappy! Nah, it has to be something epic. Something that fits."

"Well you ain't got any hobbies, you ain't got any particularly defining physical features, except them ears," the kid laughed. "Unless you got a better idea, I guess we's gonna have to keep callin' you kid, for now."

"Kid'll have to do."

"I's not upset, Poet," Bruiser was saying.

"You look upset. I was just telling you because-" Poet sounded strained.

"I gets it, Poet. I's-I's happy for you," Bruiser did not sound happy.

Jack and the kid were sitting on their bunk bed, trying very much to not eavesdrop on the loud conversation that was happening through the door by them. The kid was on the top bunk, almost folded in on himself. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and his arms were wrapped tightly around him. Jack was on the bottom, hugging his pillow.

"Thanks. I just...I'm leaving tomorrow night. I won't be back," she said.

"Never?" Bruiser asked.

"They live in California, it's not like I could come back for a day," there was a decent amount of silence now. Enough for Jack to wonder if the conversation was over, or if they'd moved on to...other activities.

"I's...I's tryin' to understand, but I can't get it. You ain't-you ain't gonna be able to get an education! Sorry, Poet, it ain't gonna happen!"

"What the hell, Bruiser?"

"You ever hear 'bout a woman doctor?"

"Bruiser, maybe if you ever read the papes you sell so well you'd know we've got one right here in New York. Elizabeth and Emily Blackwell," said Poet. "I didn't come here to ask your permission. I came here to say goodbye. If this is how you's gonna be, I's just gonna leave," Poet sounded like she was crying.

Bruiser sighed. There was more silence.

"Maybe it's just time. I's been thinkin' as well...I's 23. That's pretty damn old to still be sellin' papes. I could goes with you, get a job out west...how hard could it be?" Jack felt his heart all but stop. He had to shove his fist into his mouth to keep his cries from escaping. Bruiser was leaving? Like it was nothing, he'd just drop everything and go to California.

He'd talked about Jack being in charge one day. Jack didn't think that it would be so soon. There were so many people who were older than him, more experienced.

If Bruiser left, if Poet left...Jack would be all on his own.

"Bruiser...I can't ask you to give this up, to leave all of your family behind," Poet said.

"Poet...you's my family. I ain't need anything else but that," tears were streaming down Jack's face. He couldn't breathe. He needed air, space, _something._

Scrambling up from his bed, Jack raced to the window, tossing it open. The fresh air wasn't enough, he need more. He needed to escape.

There was a fire escape outside the window. Jack looked behind him to make sure nobody was following him, and then climbed out the window onto the landing of the fire escape.

The cold was bitter, numbing Jack's skin already. He was regretting his decision a bit, but adrenaline was pumping and he couldn't stop now. The ladder to the roof was icy, and he kept having to brush off snow with his bare hands. By the time he got to the top, he couldn't feel his fingers anymore.

It was dusk. The sun cast an orange hue throughout the city, and illuminated the silhouettes of nearby buildings. Snow dusted everything, shaping the world around him. It glistened like diamonds, covering all the darkness and dirt that Jack knew what there. Despite the freezing temperature, it looked soft enough to the point where Jack could just fall into it and be safe. Like it could embrace and surround him, and never leave him.

"Jack?" a voice called from the ladder, startling Jack from his thoughts. It was the kid. He was struggling up, both due to the snow as well as the blankets filling his arms. "Jack, it's pretty cold up here. You could use one of these."

Jack silently took the blanket from the kid, wrapping it around himself and trying to massage some warmth back into his hands.

"It's a lovely view, ain't it?" commented the kid. "I's never gonna get tired of it. The skyline, with the sun and the snow…"

Yeah, it was beautiful. Another day he might've drawn it from the window. Maybe one day he'd come up to the roof himself to paint it.

"When I's…when I's a kid, way younger, I used to have a roof like this. Small apartment, barely 'nough room for the three of us. But it hadda roof that put everything else to shame. I's go up there, and sit. Like a-a penthouse. A penthouse in the sky," the kid sighed. "Course it ain't gonna last forever, nothin' does. Soon enough my ma she-she died alongside what was gonna be my little sister. Things kept changin' and-and soon enough I never see that roof again," Jack could feel his sideways glance.

"You shouldn't be up here, you'll catch your death," muttered Jack. "Last thing we need is you's getting sick again."

"I feels fine, Jack," the kid scooted closer to him. "Do you wanna...wanna talk about anything?"

Jack was silent.

"I don't wanna push or nothin', but you seemed awful upset about what Bruiser said. You seem awful upset. You says...you says you've been here a while?"

"Yeah," that's one way to put it. "They's my family. Only family I got that eva' gave a damn. And now they's just-they's just up and leavin' like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like I don't matter at all to them. Not enough to keep them here," Jack scoffed. "Y'know, Bruiser talked to me 'bout maybe having me be in his shoes one day. I thought-I thought he's meaning in a year or so. Turns out he's talkin' around a week."

"Y'know what, Jack, lemme tell you something. You's gonna be just fine. You's gonna do a great job, no matter what. I just gotta feelin'," smiled the kid.

"It ain't just that. Bruiser, Poet...they's my family. They picked me up when I was nothin', and took me to where I am now. I loves them more than I loves my own flesh and blood. How's I supposed to live without them? How's I supposed to go on knowing they ain't cared enough to stay with me? I hate them," Jack spat.

"No, you don't. You's angry at them for leaving you. For movin' on. I can't say I's blamin' you, Jack-" the kid coughed into his elbow, struggling for breath. Jack pulled him a bit closer.

"Kid, they's the only family I got," whispered Jack.

"You's gonna make more family. Besides, you got all'a these boys here who's your family. You says that you loves them. Prove it. Let 'em move on," the kid squeezed Jack's hand.

"You thinks you could do the same thing, if it was someone you cared about? If your family wanted to leave you behind and never see you again, would you let 'em?" asked Jack.

"I hope I could. But I's pretty selfish. I think you's better at lettin' people go than I am," he shrugged.

"I gotta be," Jack looked over to where the kid was huddled. Now that he'd started to calm down a bit, he realized just how excruciatingly cold it was. And the kid was still skin and bones, just barely at the point of recovery. Feeling that familiar maternal instinct that was buried somewhere deep inside him kick in, Jack said, "C'mon, kid, let's get you inside before I'm haulin' your body around again."

"Alright," he chuckled. "I's meaning it, though. You's gotta family here. You's not gonna be alone when Bruiser and Poet leave."

"Yeah, alright kid."

"Charlie."

"Hm?"

"My name's...I's Charlie."

"Oh. Well...it's nice to meetcha, Charlie."

Jack smiled.


End file.
